Without a Warning
by DancerInTheDark101
Summary: AU. A world where Mary Winchester never died. Dean 18, Sam 14
1. Chapter 1

**WITHOUT A WARNING**

**Summary: **AU. A world where Mary Winchester never died. Dean 18, Sam 14

**Authors Note****: **Hi there! New fic from me. Completely different to anything Supernatural related I have ever written before, so I hope it's okay. Please enjoy!

**Warning: **There is sensitive material in this first chapter dealing with the topic of war. I hope I don't offend anyone and have never been to war (very thankfully) I hope I haven't completely butchered it.

* * *

_It's a truth that in love and war_

_World's collide and hearts get broken_

_I want to live like I know I'm dying_

_Take up my cross, not be afraid_

- Thousand Foot Krutch; War of Change -

* * *

It was hot.

That's what was going through his mind as he trudged through the desert. It was almost fucking unbearably hot. The sun was beating down on his back, neck and shoulders, causing the sand-coloured fatigues to cling uncomfortably to his body. A large rucksack lay in the sand beside him, filled with the essentials. Several others were leaning against theirs, large bottles of water being pulled out and gulped greedily from. He decided to follow suit and leaned back against his rucksack, grateful for the temporary reprieve of the constant sifting through the hot and unforgiving sand. He went to grab the ties holding the bag closed and pull out the much anticipated drink bottle when one of the others made a sound. Looking up, his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in horror.

Suddenly the world was on fire.

He rolled over and dropped onto his stomach, blindly groping for the semi-automatic machine gun that was lying beside him. He quickly managed to bring the gun into firing position and held it out in front of himself. His hands were shaking as he lay there.

Bullets flew overhead in terrorizing amounts. He could feel the breeze of the bullets; could hear the screams of pain coming from comrade and enemy alike. The coppery smell and taste of blood penetrated the once-calm air and he knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

Crouching, the soldier looked over the small sand barrier that was protecting some of them from the worst of the barrage. He could see bodies scattered far and wide in front of the ridge, dark crimson blood coating the golden-coloured sand.

Leaning his weapon against the top of the ridge, the soldier managed to find a group of the enemy through the plumes of dust and sand being disrupted because of the gunfire. Taking a deep breath in, he pulled the trigger. Immediately, the recoil had him sliding backwards a little and he fought to keep it under control. He saw a few of the enemy soldiers drop, screaming in pain as the small projectiles found their target.

"ALL FORCES RETREAT!" a voice screamed from somewhere to his right. The soldier whipped his head round and watched as his comrades began to pull back.

The air was dense with dust and sand, causing breathing difficulties. The soldier knew that was one of the reasons for the retreat, but found it weird to cause a full forces retreat. Coughing, he turned back to grab his weapon and rucksack and froze.

Before him, where the group of enemy soldiers had once stood, was a massive grey and cream _tank_. The huge, single barrel gun mounted to the front of the beast was horrifying in itself, but what added to the terror was the sheer amount of armed foot soldiers accompanying the beast. Their guns were raised in front, ready to fire when given the command.

For a moment, time froze. An unannounced temporary cease-fire seemed to take effect as the two sides of the war stood still and stared each other down; anxious to see who would break first. The soldier breathed hard, felt himself shaking as real fear gripped him like nothing had ever done before. Suddenly, everything seemed too real. _Dying_ seemed too real. Grabbing his weapon, he started to move very slowly backwards, hoping like hell he was going to get away before the entire desert became a blood bath – even more so than what it already was.

And then it was like a switch had been flicked. What had been an eerily calm atmosphere was transformed into an angry, vengeance-filled blood bath. The hollers from enemy soldiers filled the air moments before the bullets did.

And then came the screaming.

Chaos fell upon the soldier and his comrades as they were barraged with enemy fire. He could hear the repeated command of 'RETREAT' echo around as they all struggled to get away from it all. He heard the tank coming towards them and then there was a resounding boom as it was fired.

A huge sand cloud erupted from the ground only metres away from where he was standing, showering everyone within grasp. He flung himself to the ground again, trying to protect his battered body from the enemy.

It seemed to go on for hours. The enemy was trying to get closer towards them, while they were trying to retreat as well as preserve as many lives as possible. The soldier had seen more dead bodies than he cared to see – severed limbs, bodies blown apart and unrecognizable faces. It all swam together in a sea of destruction and misery.

Pain.

That was all he could feel. It burned through him like a hot poker, racing through his nerve endings and causing him to scream out in agony. He couldn't tell where it originated, it was just everywhere.

He stumbled and fell, causing more pain to ricochet through his body. Gasping as his breath was knocked out of him, he tried to get himself under control – get the pain under control.

Looking down he saw his leg. The left leg pant on his thigh was coated in a dark, deep crimson – blood. His hand immediately snaked towards the injury and he pushed down where there was a small, black hole – a bullet wound.

"Winchester!"

The soldier heard someone call his name, but didn't look up as he pushed his palm against the bleeding wound. He screamed again as it burned hotter. Out of the corner of his vision he saw someone drop to the ground beside him. He felt more than saw the man's hands gravitating towards the wound.

"Jesus…" the word was a whisper, one he barely heard through the gunfire and his own gasping breath. God, he just wanted to get out of there. He could fear tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and fought to keep them back. He didn't want to cry, not over a simple bullet wound. Not when others had lost their lives for a war that wasn't even in their own country.

"Okay, Winchester – let's get you outta here, huh?" the words were said in a comforting manner and the soldier felt himself be lifted off the ground and into a slightly skewered standing position. His left leg could take no weight at all, so the man who had saved him stood on that side, taking the majority of his weight.

Then, something knocked against his leg and he screamed – a raw, primal scream that he knew would have made heads turn.

"Fuck! Winchester? DEAN!"

And he slipped into oblivion.

* * *

Sam Winchester woke with a scream. He shot upright in bed and gasped, his heart racing a hundred miles an hour in his chest. Sweat soaked his shirt, making the white material cling to his body. He looked down at his hands and saw that he was shaking. The dream – no, nightmare – was still playing over and over in his mind. The blood, pain, horror… it was all too much. And combined with the raw fear he could feel coming from his older brother…

Jumping out of bed, Sam ran down the hall and into the bathroom just in time to empty the remains of dinner into the toilet. He could feel the tears running down his face as he leant against the toilet, eyes closed, spent. But as soon as his eyes had closed, the nightmare returned with vengeance and once again he could see the bloodshed and feel the fear coursing through his veins.

"Sammy?"

Jumping, the fourteen-year-old looked up as the bathroom light was switched on. In the doorway stood his mother in a short, white nightdress and her blonde hair fanned around her face.

Mary Winchester: a wife to John and a mother to Dean and Samuel. She was a nurse at the local hospital, helped run their dad's garage and was also a full-time mum. Sam had never loved someone so much as his mum. She was the best, even though she was a terrible, terrible cook.

Sam struggled into a standing position, flushed the toilet and gave his mum a small smile. "Sorry Mum. I had a nightmare."

"Oh sweetheart, it's okay. I take it was quite a bad one?"

The teenager nodded, making his way to her and together they walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sam sat on one of the barstools while Mary rummaged around the fridge, looking for something. He took a glance at the clock, wincing when he noticed the time. It was 2 AM.

"Mum it's okay. It's really early and you've got work tomorrow. I'll be okay," he tried to reason even though he knew it was hopeless.

They were a small, close-knit family. Mary and John Winchester had been married for years before finally conceiving the little boy they had always hoped for. On the 24th of January 1979 little Dean Matthew Winchester was born. Blonde hair and green eyed, he was a trouble-maker, so Sam had been told. He had been born four years later, on May 2nd. After that, his parents had decided against having any more children. They had said their life was perfect.

And it was, for sixteen more years.

One day in late August 1995 there was a terrible accident. John Winchester had been driving Dean home from a basketball game when a drunk driver crashed into a semi on the highway. The semi then tried to avoid a collision, but ended up swerving right into the path of their car. Their dad hadn't survived and Dean was left in a coma for months.

Sam remembered the day very clearly. Not only was it the day he lost his dad, but it was the day his brother changed forever too. He had always adored their dad. Had wanted to take over the garage John had helped establish many, many years before and had even had thoughts of joining the Marines, just like his old man too.

In the end, Dean dropped out of school as soon as he hit eighteen and signed up to the United States Marine Corps. That had been six months ago.

"What was the nightmare about, Sam?"

His mum's voice cut through his thoughts and Sam shook his head to rid himself of the memories.

"Dean…"

His mother wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug. Sam returned the embrace. "It was horrible Mum. There was lots of blood and Dean got hurt and he was so, _so_ scared… I want him to come home Mum."

"I know sweetie. I do too."

_RING, RING, RING_

Sam jumped for the third time that morning when the phone rang. He looked to his mum, wondering who on earth would be ringing at two o'clock in the morning.

Mary went over and picked up the phone, answering hesitantly.

"Hello?"

Sam could hear the person on the other end of the phone as he moved closer.

"Is this Mrs. Winchester?"

"Yes…"

"Sorry to disturb you, Ma'am. My name is Col. James Mustang."

Sam felt his heart drop to his feet. His hands started to shake again and he could feel bile rising up this throat. _No…_

"Y-yes?" Mary stammered. Sam could see her shaking and her face drained of all colour.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but your son Dean Winchester was shot late this afternoon."

And all Sam could think about was the horrifying dream he had just woken from…

**TBC**

* * *

_It creeps in like a thief in the night_

_Without a sign, without a warning_

_But we are ready and prepared to fight_

_Raise up your swords, don't be afraid_

_There's a war going on inside of me tonight_

- Thousand Foot Krutch; War of Change -

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Hopefully there will be more to come soon!**

**Rachel**


	2. Chapter 2

Hi there! How are you all? Sorry this chapter has taken so long, but with moving country and a few other things, (discovering an awesome new TV show that has taken up my attention lately lol) this fic has taken a back seat.

Thanks for the reviews for last chapter too. It really makes a difference to hear what you think about my writing :)

Well, I hope you all enjoy the latest installment!

* * *

**WITHOUT A WARNING**

**DANCERINTHEDARK101**

* * *

_AU. A world where Mary Winchester never died. Dean 18, Sam 14_

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

Dean woke in a completely different environment. For one, it wasn't exceedingly hot or covered in sand. There were no sounds of gunfire or screaming ripping through the air.

He attempted to take in a deep breath, but chocked when he was cut off part way by a deep, hacking couch that tore through his throat. He screwed his eyes in pain as the cough escalated into a full-blown fit. Struggling to sit up, the soldier fought for breath. He was so focused on the fact he couldn't breathe, he didn't even notice when several people rushed in until something cold and plastic was placed over his nose and mouth.

Hands gripped his shoulders and pushed him into a sitting position as someone clapped him on the back, trying to dislodge some of the stuff that was stuck in his lungs. A rush of cold air infiltrated his nose and mouth as the plastic thing did his magic and it wasn't until a few moments later that he realised it was an oxygen mask.

"Easy now…" a calm, soothing voice whispered in his ear. "Just take a few deep breaths. That's it – nice and slow."

Dean followed the instructions, letting out a shuddering breath as he was finally able to breathe unobstructed. It wasn't until then that he opened his eyes and took a look around him.

At first the harsh lighting of the room hurt, his eyes unused to it. He blinked rapidly a few times before he found himself adjusting to the light. Glancing around, Dean noticed that he was currently in a hospital room. Several nurses were standing around; a few checking the many machines paced around his bed while two stood beside him watching him careful gazes.

There was an IV line inserted into the back of his right hand, while another was in the crook of his left elbow. Both were pumping some kind of clear liquid into his veins and by the slightly out-of-body feeling he was having, one of them was a kind of heavy-duty painkiller.

"Mr. Winchester?" Dean turned his head lazily to focus on the nurse who had spoken. "You with us sweetie?"

Feeling a sluggish grin forming, Dean nodded. "Oh y-yeah…" he croaked, wishing like hell he had a nice cold drink available. Seemingly reading his mind, one of the nurses (which the teenager realised were _exceedingly _good looking) appeared on his left with a paper cup. She then took the spoon placed inside and pulled out a few ice chips. Dean took the chips as another nurse pulled down the mask and swirled them around in his mouth, relishing in the cold before swallowing the melted ice. The mask was then pulled back up over his mouth.

"Yeah I'm… here," he whispered afterwards, his words muffled by the oxygen mask. "Where is… here?"

He leaned back into the pillows, which one of the nurses had plumped when they had raised the head of the bed. An overwhelming urge of sleep swept over him as he lay there. Someone was speaking, but he found he wasn't able to concentrate enough to understand the words. Blinking lethargically a few times, Dean drifted back off to sleep.

_-SUPERNATURAL-_

The next time Dean woke, he was much more aware of his surroundings. He was still lying in the hospital bed, his two IV friends inserted in their respective places. He noticed though, thankfully, that the oxygen mask was gone and had been replaced by a nasal cannula.

Shifting slightly, it wasn't until he flexed his legs a little that the pain hit him. Letting out a small gasp – of which later he would deny was a gasp of pain, instead merely a gasp of surprise – he clenched his fists as he tried to ride out the flashes of white hot pain racing up his left leg.

The sound of a loud, mechanical beeping reached his ears as he gasped; the beeping becoming more and more frequent as the pain worsened. Several medical personnel rushed into the room and began fussing around his bed, talking in low, calming voices as they did so. It wasn't until one of them fiddled with the bag attached to the IV in his hand that the pain lessened somewhat and he was able to think rationally again.

"Mr. Winchester? Dean?" Someone was questioning him through the pain-induced haze and Dean finally managed to turn his head and stare at the person speaking.

"…yeah?"

Relief washed over the woman's face. "You just hang on a moment, 'kay? I'm just gonna run and grab your doctor and he can come explain to you what's happened. I'm sure you've got a lot of questions."

Questions? Yeah, he had questions – like why the hell he was in a hospital bed. What had happened? Feeling the tug of the painkillers attempting to lull him into a hazy existence, Dean fought the feeling off and instead looked down at his left leg.

There was a significant difference from his left leg to his right. His right thigh looked normal – just a regular old leg. But the left… around the thigh area was a bulky shape that looked like heavy bandaging and something was sticking out the side. Dean moved his left leg experimentally and almost cried out at the pain. What the fuck was wrong with his leg?

"I wouldn't advise you to do that, if I were you Dean," a male's voice spoke up from somewhere to his right. Coughing lightly, he shifted again but this time was careful not to move his legs.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled. He was tall, about six feet, with dark brown hair that was speckled with silver. He wore a white coat over top of a black shirt and blue scrub pants. "I'm Doctor Harding. I was the doctor on call when you arrived here."

"And where is… here?" he asked, motioning to the room around him, mindful of the IV's in his arms.

"You, my friend, are currently a patient at Bethesda Military Hospital in Washington DC."

Dean couldn't have been more shocked had he tried. He was back in the US? The last thing he remembered was the heat and sand of the Iraqi desert. He remembered the gunfire and the screams, and then a lot of pain. But that was it. After that, it was complete oblivion.

"What happened? The last thing I remember… I was in Iraq, fighting…"

Dean watched as Dr. Harding pulled out a nearby chair and sat down next to his bed. The doctor ran a hand through his hair before beginning to speak again.

"You were in Iraq, Dean. But you were injured and required immediate medical attention. They flew you out as soon as you were stable." He paused, clearing his throat, before continuing.

"You suffered a gunshot wound to your upper left thigh. It was very lucky the bullet didn't nick the femoral artery, but it still managed to inflict sever damage to the surrounding muscle and tissue. The bullet entered high before hitting the bone and shattering, managing to fracture the bone. The bullet fragments then travelled further down your leg before lodging in the flesh above your kneecap."

Dean took the information in. It sounded like he was extremely lucky not to have died. If the bullet had even landed a glancing blow at his femoral artery, there was no way he would have made it out of the desert, let alone back to the States.

"How long have I been here? Was my family informed?"

Dr. Harding nodded in confirmation. "Your family was notified as soon as you were brought back to your base camp. And to answer your other question, you've been here for almost a month, Dean."

His mouth dropped open. A month? How the hell did a simple bullet would cause a month-long stay in a hospital? And why had he only woken up now?

"Why so long? I have a feeling that it wasn't all smooth sailing, considering I've only just woken up."

"Yes," the doctor nodded again. "There were several complications. They managed to stabilize you at the base camp, but by the time they'd brought you back to the US, you had still managed to lose more blood than was healthy and infection had started to set in. The inside of your leg was virtually torn to shreds, due to the bullet shattering upon impacting the thigh bone.

"A few weeks after your initial operation, we had to operate again as it was found a small fragment had been missed and was the cause of another infection that was ravaging your body. We'd already been pumping antibiotics into you, but it wasn't doing as much as we had hoped. We managed to remove the fragment, but one of the surgeons nicked the artery and we almost lost you. After patching that all up, the infection still wasn't going away so we had to go in again; this time to insert a draining tube into the site to drain away the pus and fluid gathering there."

Dr. Harding motioned to where Dean could see a slim, plastic tube sticking out the side of his leg. So that was what that was.

"We've had that in for almost a week now, and I would say that it should be ready to come out in a few days. We've kept you under anaesthetic for most of your time here, to stop you from moving and let the leg to heal as much as possible. We consulted with your mother on the matter and felt that considering the amount of surgery you've had to endure, it was for the best."

"My Mom's here?"

"Yes. Both her and your brother have been staying in nearby hotel while you've been here. I'm sure they're going to be extremely happy that you're awake and coherent. The last few times you've woken, you've been pretty out of it."

Dean chuckled at that. From the few times he had been hospitalized in the past, he knew that he and his pal Morphine didn't exactly react well to each other. Relaxing back against the pillows, the teenage soldier let out a deep breath before closing his eyes briefly as his brain attempted to process everything he had just been told.

The doctor stood, the chair scraping against the white flooring. "I'll let you get some rest. If you want I can get a nurse to call your family and let them know you're awake?"

Dean smiled. It would be good to see his mom and brother again. "Yeah, I'd like that, thanks." As the doctor started to leave, Dean had a sudden thought hit him. "Doctor?" he called out just as he reached the door.

Dr. Harding turned. "Yes?"

Taking in a shuddering breath, Dean spoke. "Um, about my leg…? Uh, will I be able to walk properly again? Y'know, with the muscle and bone damage?" He was afraid of the answer – knowing that if there was any permanent damage, there went his chance at ever going back to the Marines.

Seeing his doctor slump at his question filled Dean with fear. He knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

"I'm not going to lie, Dean. You're going to have a lengthy recovery in front of you – some physiotherapy, and you'll definitely need crutches for at least a few weeks once you get out of here. But, don't let that discourage you. We won't know the full extent of the damage until you're up and around, so it is also likely that you won't need as much therapy s we first thought. Don't give up just yet, Dean. Now get some rest. You need it. Hopefully when you wake next, your family will be here."

With that information also swirling around in his mind, Dean closed his eyes again and fell into an uneasy slumber, aided by the painkillers flowing through his veins.

Dean dreamed.

_It was hot. That much he knew. Thrashing about in the bed, he struggled to get out of the layers of blankets suffocating him. His eyes shot open as sweat dripped down his face, soaking the sheets. He lay there, taking in heaving breaths as he attempted to calm his heart rate down. The nightmares were bad. He never remembered them when he woke, but he did know that they all had something to do with the fire fight in the desert. _

_Pushing himself up in the bed, Dean threw his legs over the side of the bed and prepared to stand. But as soon as his feet hit the carpet, he fell forward, his legs unable to hold him upright. _

_Pushing back a cry, he gasped at the pain radiating from his left thigh. He reached down to massage the ache away and stopped short when his hand met only air. _

_Looking down at his legs, Dean cried. He had forgotten… forgotten that he no longer had a left leg. The bullet wound that had penetrated his leg had shattered and several fragments had been missed during the initial surgery, causing an infection to ravage his leg. No matter what the doctors did, all attempts failed and they were forced to amputate. His life was over. He couldn't return to the Marine Corps, he couldn't get a job. He was a cripple, doomed to a wheelchair or a prosthetic his entire life. _

_So Dean lay there on the floor, minus a leg, and cried. _

Dean shot upright in bed, gasping as the dream circulated in his mind. He looked down at his legs, relief washing through him at the sight of his left leg circled in bandages, with the draining tube still in place.

"Dean?"

Jerking his head up at the voice, Dean felt the remnants of the nightmare leave. Staring at him, a huge smile creeping across beautiful features – was his mom.

"Mom…" And by just looking at her, Dean knew that everything was going to be alright.

* * *

_Well, this chapter was a long time coming. Sorry a lot didn't happen – it was more of a filler chapter really. There will probably be a time-jump next chapter to when Dean has gone through a bit of therapy and is back home – then the plot will kick in. I promise Sammy will make an appearance too :)_

_I hope the medical stuff sounded plausible as well. I have no idea if it's accurate or not… but I hope it sounds it! _

_Thanks for reading. Please review _

_-Rachel_


End file.
